


It's not as bad as it seems

by Mars Daily (Siri)



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, I didn't have a heart to end it in a different way, Implied HIV/AIDS, Post-Canon, Post-Whizzer Brown's Death, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 18:18:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17187989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siri/pseuds/Mars%20Daily
Summary: When a moment of sudden weakness lands Marvin in the hospital, it is only logical to him. It's been six years after Whizzer's death, and something bad is happening once again.But it isn't as bad as it seems. Even if Marvin believes so.





	It's not as bad as it seems

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt phrase: "It's not as bad as it seems."  
> No one mentions Whizzer, but everybody thinks of him, one way or another.

"It's not as bad as it seems," Marvin says, and he hates the very moment this combination of sounds leaves his mouth. He remembers far too well hearing the same from his own father, however different the circumstances were. And in his case it’s not even a lie, not really.

It’s not as bad as it seems. It’s probably worse.

Jason, as smart a kid as he is, doesn’t take it from him, not this time. Marvin has done a great job being open with his son in recent years, but Jason just knows him far too well. He raises an eyebrow, in the very same fashion his father does every time he hears yet another biggest BS in his life, and Marvin cannot find any words to offer as an acceptable substitute for the uttered stupidity.

“Dad,” Jason says carefully, watching his father’s expression. Marvin sort of caves into himself, seeking retreat. His very being is reduced to one simple action of studying his own hands instead of meeting his son’s perceptive gaze. The boy shifts uncomfortably in the chair near the hospital bed and then continues, “You _literally_ passed out on the street. Don’t give me that ‘I’m totally okay’ nonsense you usually do. For the record, nobody’s buying it anyway.”

Marvin chuckles against his better judgement, which instantly earns him a scolding look. That was so Trina talking, though.

Ah, Trina. She is the first to jump the bus and rush all the way here, as soon as she receives the phone call from an uncharacteristically fussy janitor.

“Sorry you’re still my emergency contact,” Marvin smiles despite the fact that there is nothing susceptible to humour on his ex-wife’s face. Trina shakes her head, dead serious and barely holding it together.

Years apart did them both good, Marvin thinks. All the perturbations aside, she flourished through the difficult parts, the grief they shared, and somehow managed to gain more than she ever could being with him. And that is only fair. To think that they managed to survive more than a decade in each other’s meshwork of wants and insecurities under the kept proprieties… By Jove, Marvin always thought she was a wonderful woman. She deserved a well-loved life with a caring husband and homely comfort wrapped into precious family tinfoil.

“Did you leave Miriam alone?” he asks to ground the conversation a bit. Four years ago the Weisenbachfeld household got another member, and Marvin found himself re-living some of the happiest moments of his life. Sure, he wasn’t a father, he wasn’t anything, to be honest (a slightly weird gay uncle? well, may be), but he loved the child as if she was his own. Sometimes to the most ridiculous amplitude.

“She’s at Applebaums’. I asked Mendel to pick her up, he was to finish earlier today.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t.”

There’s a familiar edge in her voice, and Marvin dare not talk again for some time. The silence is not uncomfortable, but it’s hollow, void of the slightest content and screaming to be filled.

“Well,” he risks voicing, too quiet to be heard, so he has to start again, “Well, I guess, this might be it.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Trina counters, the edge now gone, but somehow still present in Marvin’s mind. “Results are not in yet. We have to wait before jumping to conclusions.”

“Trina—“

“No, Marvin. We _wait_. Why do you always have to make it difficult by your own sheer attempts to make it easier? Everything will be alright. I know that.”

Why did you cry then, he wants to ask, but chooses not to. They don’t really continue after that, but neither feels like pushing the matter or being civilly engaged otherwise. Their minds wander to the events that took place before and during Jason’s Bar Mitzvah. Six years came and went, and the scar is still there, right in the middle of their interwoven lives. They never talk about it these days anyway.

And now, a couple of hours later, his son keeps him company while they wait for what the doctor has to say. He doesn’t want Jason to hear the news like this — in a very much fist hand manner, — but Marvin also ins’t ready to say ‘no’ and point at the door if his son just stays. Jason is nearly a proper adult now, a person with his own rights and responsibilities, and if he thinks he can handle it, then well... God knows, Marvin will not be here long enough to protect and warn him against each and every seemingly precarious action.

“So you think it’s as bad as it looks?” Marvin asks, wondering how it came to be that both Jason and Trina oppose him on his opinion about the situation. Would they still if, say, the attitude was switched and matched to what he heard from them so far?

Jason shrugs.

“I just think there’s no need to sugarcoat it for me. It does look bad, but we don’t know how bad exactly, right?”

“Right.”

And this time the silence actually _is_ uncomfortable. He knows that Jason is scared. He sees that in the shoulder line, stiffened and rigid, and in the face, too collected to be casually relaxed. But his son is as stubborn as him, and there is no use in pointing out all of that just to rile him up out of the carefully mustered confidence he put in the words.

The sound of a door being opened saves them from having to take more of it and drowning in their own thoughts, quite aligned at the moment. Thankfully, it is Charlotte, holding a clipboard in her hand, and Marvin’s heart jumps a little before sinking at the stern expression on her face. She is probably just tired, having to work an overnight shift and then stay extra hours just to make sure that an idiot of her neighbour is still breathing the same air as the rest of their tight-knit family.

“You’re such a doofus, Marvin,” she sighs and takes a seat at the foot of the bed. Charlotte is definitely tired, judging by the power that gravity holds over her frame. “You’ve mastered the art of doofusness. You should give him a medal, Jason, your father has just transcended himself.”

“Am I dy—“

“What did you thi—“

Both go quiet, watching each other intently.

“You’ve overworked,” Charlotte says.

“Overworked,” Marvin repeats with a dumb expression.

“Ran yourself up the wall and all the way across the ceiling, didn’t you.”

“Overworked.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that watching your blood pressure and keeping regular meal times is _that_ important. And don’t even get me started on your sleeping schedule…”

“Overw—”

Charlotte shifts and leans forward to give him a cuff on the nape, almost successful in suppressing a smile.

“Stop it! Yes, you’re alright for now, Jeez… Don’t you do that. Ever. Again. Please. Or I’ll have to invent some measures to take against it, and Cordelia’s experimental cuisine would seem like a heavenly feast to you in comparison.”

Marvin stays voiceless, unsure of what or how he feels. Charlotte has to finish her round, so she leaves after promising to send down the nurse with further instructions. She exits the ward, and something else departs too, but Marvin’s is just too dumbstruck to define what exactly.

It’s only minutes later that he feels himself being held close by someone, who lets him cry silently into their shoulder.

Jason holds him in a tight embrace, holds together what is falling apart, as he always did. And very much like in the past, he is going to try and keep it together properly.

And hey. This time his father is actually — surprisingly — right.

It’s not as bad as it seems. It is simply better.


End file.
